“I rather think not, Captain Cuffe.  ‘Smees’ is very much as an Italian would pronounce ‘Smith,’ as, you know, the French call it ‘Smeet.’  It will turn out that this Mr. Raoul has seized upon the first English name he fell in with, as a man overboard clutches at a spar adrift or a life-buoy; and that happened to be ‘Smith.’”

“Who the devil ever heard of a my lord Smith!  A pretty sort of aristocracy we should have, Griffin, if it were made up of such fellows!”

“Why, sir, the name can make no great difference; the deeds and the antiquity forming the essentials.”

“And he assumed a title, too—­Sir Smees!—­I dare say he was ready to swear His Majesty made him a Knight Banneret, under the royal ensign and on the deck of his own ship, as was done with some of the old admirals.  The veechy, however, has forgotten a part of the story, as it must have been sir John, or Sir Thomas Smees, at least.”

“No, sir; that is the way with the French and the Italians, who do not understand our manner of using Christian names with titles, as in our Sir Edwards and Lord Harries and Lady Betties.”

“Blast the French!  I can believe anything of them, though I should have thought that these Italians knew better.  However, it may be well to give the veechy a hint of what we have been saying, or it may seem rude—­and, hark’ye, Griffin, while you are about it, rub him down a little touching books and that sort of thing; for the surgeon tells me he has heard of him in Leghorn as a regular leaf-cutter.”

The lieutenant did as ordered, throwing in an allusion to Andrea’s reputation for learning, that, under the circumstances, was not ill-timed, and which, as it was well enough expressed, was exceedingly grateful to his listener just at that awkward moment.

“My claims to literature are but small, Signore,” answered Andrea, with humility, “as I beg you will inform Sir Kooffe; but they were sufficient to detect certain assumptions of this corsair; a circumstance that came very near bringing about an exposure at a most critical moment.  He had the audacity, Signore, to wish to persuade me that there was a certain English orator of the same name and of equal merit of him of Roma and Pompeii—­one Sir Cicero!”

“The barone!” again exclaimed Cuffe, when this new offence of Raoul’s was explained to him.  “I believe the rascal was up to anything.  But there is an end of him now, with all his Sir Smees and Sir Ciceros into the bargain.  Just let the veechy into the secret of the fellow’s fate, Griffin.”

Griffin then related to the vice-governatore the manner in which it was supposed that le Feu-Follet, Raoul Yvard, and all his associates had been consumed like caterpillars on a tree.  Andrea Barrofaldi listened, with a proper degree of horror expressed in his countenance; but Vito Viti heard the tale with signs of indifference and incredulity that he did not care to conceal.  Nevertheless, Griffin persevered, until he had even given an account of the manner in which he and Cuffe examined the lugger’s anchorage, in the bootless attempt to discover the wreck.